


To the Suns and Back

by LittleRobinRedbreast



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood, Blood and Injury, Dad Vader, Defection, Drama in General, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Force ghost Padme, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Luke Skywalker Needs A Hug, Mental Conversations, Mother-Son Relationship, Nightmares, One Shot Collection, Poisoning, Revenge, Sibling Relationship, Sick Luke, Skywalker Family Drama, Sort Of, force illusions, vader needs to take about ten chill pills
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:48:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21613297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRobinRedbreast/pseuds/LittleRobinRedbreast
Summary: Yet another Star Wars one-shot collection, which will mostly be centered around our favorite Sunshine Child and Sad Murder Dad. Tags and characters will be added as the one-shots progress.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker, Luke Skywalker & Beru Whitesun, Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader, Luke Skywalker & Han Solo, Owen Lars & Luke Skywalker, Owen Lars/Beru Whitesun, Padmé Amidala & Luke Skywalker, Wedge Antilles & Han Solo, Wedge Antilles & Luke Skywalker
Comments: 151
Kudos: 598





	1. I'm Fine

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic is a variation of the phrase "I love you to the moon and back." In this case it's "to the suns and back."
> 
> I don't know how often I'll be updating this. Just assume that my updates will be sporadic. Chapters will come whenever inspiration strikes. 
> 
> Chapter Summary: Luke is minding his own business when Vader comes calling.
> 
> This turned out angstier than I intended. Hope y'all enjoy it anyway. :)

Luke Skywalker was bored. He suppressed a yawn and forced himself to focus on the words Mon Mothma was speaking.

Truthfully, he didn’t know why he was required to attend this meeting. They were only debating the location of their next base. High Command had never asked for his input before. For whatever reason, here he was, listening as Mothma droned on and on about the weather patterns on some Outer Rim planet Luke couldn’t remember the name of.

Although, it was nice that they were taking climate into account for their next base. Luke would love to have words with whoever thought Hoth had been a good idea. But if he had to sit here for much longer, he was going to lose his mind.

Next to him, Leia kicked his leg under the table for a third time. She was giving him The Look—the one she usually reserved for Han when he was acting particularly like a nerf herder. He swore he could hear her voice in his mind saying, _Pay attention!_

He grimaced and shot her an apologetic look, attempting to straighten up in his chair and look attentive. Luke really should at least act interested. This was an opportunity for Luke to show High Command that he was ready to go back out in the field. And he _was_ ready. It had been three weeks since Bespin and they hadn’t let him go on any missions.

He still had nightmares every night. In his dreams, he relived the duel with Vader. Normally, the dreams played out exactly as it had on Cloud City. But sometimes he dreamed that Vader had caught him before he could fall. In those ones he always ended up Turning. Others had Vader successfully freezing him in carbonite and presenting him to the Emperor. In one especially graphic dream, Vader had killed him on the gantry instead of just cutting off his hand.

His nights were still traumatic for him, but he no longer jumped at every shadow. He no longer heard the phantom sound of a respirator in his waking hours. Luke couldn’t just sit around base. He needed to do something to take his mind off Bespin. The only way to accomplish that was to convince High Command they could send him on missions.

_Luke._

He felt the cold tendrils of his fa—of Vader’s Force presence envelop his mind a split second before his voice sounded in Luke’s head.

Despite that this was the fifth time Vader had tried to contact him since Bespin, he was still startled. Luke yelped and jerked in his seat, slamming as many mental shields down as he could. Every eye in the room turned toward him and he cursed Vader’s timing.

“Luke, are you alright?” Leia asked, her forehead creased in concern.

“I’m—”

_Luke…_

“—fine.” Luke forced a smile. “Please, continue.”

The meeting resumed. Leia kept shooting him glances. Luke ignored her and the tendrils prodding against his mental shields. They weren’t harsh but they weren’t exactly gentle either.

 _Luke, you are acting like a child. Cease ignoring me._ Vader’s mental voice was heavy with disapproval.

Luke clenched his jaw but otherwise showed no outward signs of discomfort.

_Luke—_

_Leave me alone!_ Luke snapped and immediately regretted it as a sense of triumph flooded across the bond.

_I thought you would appreciate a distraction._

_What?_

_You were broadcasting your boredom so strongly, it is a wonder the whole galaxy did not feel it, young one._

Luke blushed and rechecked his mental shields.

_Do not be embarrassed. Your lack of training can be rectified._

In an instant Luke went from embarrassment to anxiousness. He swallowed hard and decided to ignore that last part.

 _Doesn’t the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Navy have anything better to do than interrupt my daily routine?_ Luke snarked, trying to hide his fear.

A soft nudge against his leg made him look over at Leia. She was gazing at him intently. “ _What’s wrong_?” she mouthed.

He shook his head in reply. He couldn’t tell her, especially not in front of High Command.

Luke felt a sharp mental tap of admonishment from Vader. _It is_ you _who interrupted_ me _, son._

_Don’t call me that!_

_And why not? You are my son._

_Get out of my head!_

_Very well._ Vader’s emotions were roiling in frustration and disappointment. _You cannot deny the truth forever, my son._

Luke resisted the childish urge to retort, _Watch me._

Vader’s overbearing presence finally faded, and Luke sighed in relief, slumping back in his chair.

The meeting concluded shortly after and Luke was the first one out of the briefing room. He tried to hightail it down the hallway, but Leia caught up with him.

“What happened in there?” she demanded.

“Nothing,” he lied, and hated himself for it.

“Luke…” Leia warned.

He didn’t want to lie to her. She had been through so much. She was his best friend. But he couldn’t bear to see her reaction to the truth. He didn’t want to see her recoil in horror. He didn’t want to lose their friendship. Leia _hated_ Vader. There was no way she wouldn’t look at him differently.

“I’m fine.” He didn’t know if he was trying to convince her or himself.

Leia glared at him and crossed her arms over her chest. “I know you’re not fine, Luke. You’ve been off since Bespin.”

Luke opened his mouth—to say what, he didn’t know—but Leia held up a hand for silence.

“I understand that you don’t want to talk about it.” Her eyes softened and she reached out to grasp his hands in her own. “Just know that I’m here if you ever do.”

He couldn’t speak past the sudden lump in his throat, so he nodded. She pulled him into a hug and he let himself relax in her embrace, tears stinging behind his eyes.

 _I’m fine_ , he thought, and tried for one desperate minute to believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it to the end, thanks for reading!


	2. A Stimshot a Day Keeps the Doctor Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke goes on a mission while sick. The results leave much to be desired. Vader certainly isn't impressed.

Luke coughed, groaned, and coughed again. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this miserable—not counting Bespin, of course. His throat was raw, like he’d been gargling sand for days. His head pounded, causing his stomach to churn like a sarlacc scrambling for its next food source. His body was wracked with shivers, even though he didn’t feel cold in the slightest. 

Last night, when he’d gone to bed, he’d felt fine. Luke cursed his luck. Or the Force. Whatever. This was the worst time to catch a virus. There was too much to do. For one, he had to help find Han. For another, he had a mission in...he checked his chrono—0300...two hours.

He swallowed, wincing as the motion exacerbated his throat. Maybe he could raid the medbay for some stimshots. He’d have to be careful the medics didn’t catch him. It would only be a temporary solution—just until the mission was over. Then he could afford to rest a few days before continuing the search for Han.

Luke rolled over in bed, drew the covers closer around his shoulders, and desperately tried to get a couple more hours of sleep.

* * *

“Shavit, shavit, _shavit_ ,” Luke hissed under his breath, moving as stealthily through the trees as he could. 

Luke stifled a cough in the crook of his elbow, stumbled, and kept moving. He focused on swiftly putting one foot in front of the other without tripping on the undergrowth. This was made difficult by the heavy fog and the trees above blotting out most of the gray sky. 

Vader was _not_ supposed to be here. Absolutely zero percent of their intel had indicated he would be here. So _why was he here_? This mission wasn’t going to plan. But then, when did any of his missions go to plan? Honestly, he should just stop planning. He almost always ended up improvising anyway. 

He felt Vader’s dark, freezing presence probing, seeking. Luke swore and threw up even more mental shields. Vader already knew he was here—hence why Luke was running—but he didn’t know exactly _where_ he was. If Luke kept him off his scent for long enough, maybe he would get tired of searching and leave him alone. 

_Yeah right, Skywalker. That’ll happen the day Hoth turns into a tropical paradise._

Luke’s vision spun and he shook his head frantically to clear it. Bad idea. His foot caught on a protruding root and he went sprawling on the damp forest ground. He coughed weakly and shivered, resisting the urge to groan at the pain in his inflamed throat. Luke crawled unsteadily to a nearby tree and leaned his back against it, trying to will energy back into his limbs. 

_The stimshot must be wearing off_ , he thought vaguely, and grew alarmed when he realized his eyelids were drooping.

The steady sound of a respirator chilled his blood. 

His head snapped up and a sudden spike of adrenaline gave him the strength to surge to his feet just in time to see Darth Vader emerge from the mist. Idly, Luke realized his shields must have dropped in his exhaustion.

“Why are you here?” Vader demanded, his sonorous, mechanical voice sending vibroblades driving into his head.

Luke was thrown off by the completely unexpected question and as such could only think to say, “What?” 

“You are clearly ill,” Vader snapped, and Luke tried to hide the fact that he had to lean against a tree for support. “Yet here you are, traipsing about like a recalcitrant bantha cub. Does the rebellion have no regard for its poster boy’s health?” 

Luke stared at him, flustered, astonished, and angered all in one. 

“You have no right,” Luke snarled. 

“I have _every_ right—”

“You yourself have no regard for my health,” Luke interrupted, lifting his prosthetic hand pointedly. “And I should be asking what _you’re_ doing here.” 

Vader bristled, annoyance simmering below the surface. “I do not make a habit of discussing Imperial business with rebels.” 

Luke opened his mouth to make some sort of retort when his stomach turned violently. Eyes growing wide in horror, he plead to the Force and any deity that would listen. _Oh, Force. Not now, not now, not now…_

“Luke?”

Unfortunately, Luke’s pleas went unanswered. He had just enough time to throw himself partially behind the tree he was leaning against for some semblance of privacy before he was heaving up the meager breakfast he’d managed to eat that morning.

Behind him, he felt Vader take a step forward and then stop, as if he didn’t know what to do. 

_Welcome to fatherhood_ , Luke thought hysterically and decided he was losing it. 

He ignored Vader’s overbearing presence as it surrounded him and tried to pretend that it wasn’t at all soothing. 

After what felt like an eternity of his stomach trying to turn itself inside out, he sat back, letting out an involuntary moan at the burning in his throat. The pain in his head was near blinding now, and all he wanted to do was lie down right where he was and let his face rest against the cool earth. 

A heavy gloved hand coming to rest against the top of his head startled him. 

“You are coming with me,” Vader said.

“I’m not,” Luke protested, cringing at how raspy his voice was.

“You are in no condition to argue,” Vader retorted, Force presence sharp and cold. Then, inexplicably, infinitesimally, the dark tendrils softened. “Truce, for now, Luke. We can revisit the topic of your destiny when you are healed.” Vader held out a hand. 

Luke gazed at it warily. His instincts screamed at him not to trust Vader—not to go with him. Another, smaller voice told him everything would be alright. The voice was feminine and familiar, as if he’d heard it long ago. Images of warm brown eyes and long, curly brown hair decorated with flowers flashed through his mind. He didn’t know why he recognized the voice, but he instinctively trusted whoever it belonged to. 

_At least the rest of my team got away,_ Luke thought _._

“Fine,” he breathed, and reached out to take his father’s hand. 

_Leia is definitely going to kill me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been sick lately, so I thought I'd let Luke share my misery. Unlike Luke, however, I don't use stimshots to deal with it (or in Luke's case, not deal with it). 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. One Million

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke struggles with the consequences of destroying the Death Star.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This sort of came out of nowhere. Wasn't expecting to publish a new chapter this soon, but here we are. The next update, however, is planned. I'll be posting something Christmas Day, so keep an eye out. 
> 
> Without further ado, happy reading! :)

At first, he was elated. They had won. He’d done it. He’d blown up the Death Star, and the Rebellion was alive to fight another day. He clung to Leia and Han, giddy and drunk on the joyous cheers and shouts all around him. 

He and Wedge, the last of Red Squadron, were passed around. Everyone wanted to congratulate them, give them a pat on the back, and express their gratitude. Of course, Han wasn’t left out of the fray. If it hadn't been for him, Luke very well may have been blown away. 

The three of them endured—and even enjoyed—this treatment for close to an hour. Eventually, they grew tired, and Leia and General Dodonna stepped in. Those still on-duty were told to begin evacuation protocols—after the ceremony planned for tomorrow, the base was to be abandoned (the Empire wouldn’t stay away for long)—and everyone else was ordered to get some rest.

Luke stumbled to his hastily assigned quarters and flopped face-first onto his bunk. He was asleep before he could even contemplate taking his boots off. 

Days later, the implications of what he had done hit him with the force of a blaster shot to the stomach. 

He was walking through the mess hall when a group of people crowded around a table caught his attention. They were watching something on someone’s portable holoprojector. As he got closer, he realized it was some kind of Imperial propaganda. The small, blue form of some random Imperial anchorman flickered but held steady. 

_“...this devastating loss shall not be forgotten. We all mourn the slaughter of the one million loyal Imperial soldiers and civilians that were working on the space station, which was to be a scientific research facility…”_

“Scientific research facility,” someone scoffed. 

“How can anyone believe this poodoo?” another demanded. 

Luke didn’t hear any of them. His mind was stuck, the words “one million” pounding against his brain over and over.

“Is that true?” Luke heard himself asking.

“Which part?”

“One million. Were there one million beings on the Death Star?”

“They could be exaggerating, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there were. That thing was huge.” 

Luke didn’t know who had answered him. He felt numb. 

_One million._

“You okay, Skywalker? You’re looking a little pale.”

_One million._

“I’m fine.”

His mind went on autopilot and his feet took him away from the table and out of the mess hall. He didn’t know where he was going. He just kept moving. 

If there were one million people on the Death Star, and Luke had been the one to blow it up, then that meant…

Bile rose in his throat, but he forced it down. 

_One million._

What would Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen think? His heart clenched painfully. They wouldn’t think anything because they were dead. And so was Biggs. And Ben. And one million people, who he had…

“Luke?”

He had…

“I killed them.” Somehow, the words squeezed passed the lump in his throat. 

“Hey, hey.” There were warm hands on his shoulders. “Luke, you need to breathe.”

“I...can’t,” Luke gasped.

“If you can talk, you can breathe.” One of the hands moved from his shoulders. It clasped Luke’s hand and brought it to rest against someone’s chest. “Come on, copy me. In...out...in...out.”

Luke focused on the feeling of his hand moving up and down on the chest. He sucked in air when it rose and let it out when it fell. 

“That’s it. You’re doing good.”

After a few minutes of this, his nausea abated and the world came back into focus. He was sitting on the ground with his back against a wall— _When did that happen?_ —and Wedge Antilles was crouched in front of him, holding Luke’s hand against his chest. They were in a hallway, which was thankfully deserted. Luke felt heat rising in his cheeks. He tugged on his hand and Wedge let go.

“I’m sorry—

“Don’t be,” Wedge interrupted.

“I don’t know what happened,” Luke whispered, unable to meet Wedge’s eyes. 

“Luke.” Wedge waited until Luke looked up. “It’s okay. Everyone gets overwhelmed sometimes. You’re not expected to be strong all the time.”

Luke sighed and slumped further against the wall. He felt drained, like he’d just ran three miles when the suns of Tatooine were at their highest. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Wedge asked.

“I…” His voice caught in his throat. _One million._ He shook himself. “It just hit me, I guess. What I did.”

Wedge nodded, understanding in his dark eyes. He didn’t ask him to elaborate, and Luke had never been more grateful. 

“You did what you had to do, Luke.”

“Doesn’t mean I feel any better about it.”

“I know. I’m sorry you had to make that choice.” Wedge stood and held out a hand. “You ready to move?”

Luke nodded and accepted the hand. He was pulled abruptly to his feet—stars, Wedge was stronger than he looked—and Wedge patted him on the shoulder. 

“A certain smuggler was looking for you—something about you promising to take a look at some of the _Falcon’s_ systems?” 

Luke smacked his forehead. “I completely forgot!” 

As if he had been summoned, said smuggler rounded the corner looking irritated. 

“What’s taking so long, Antilles?” Han stopped in front of them and pointed a finger at Luke. “And where’ve you been, kid? Chewie’s getting impatient.” 

Wedge rolled his eyes and Luke suppressed a snort.

“Sorry, I forgot,” Luke said. “Don’t worry, I’ll apologize to _Chewie_ for my tardiness.” 

“Damn right you will! He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” 

Luke had only known Han and Chewie for little over a week, but he knew for certain that Chewie was definitely the more patient of the two. Unless it came to dejarik. The Wookie hated to lose. 

“Don’t get your power cables in a knot, Solo.” Wedge crossed his arms and smirked. “Luke and me were just having a conversation. We were about to head over to the _Falcon_ before you came barging over like an angry gundark.” 

“Careful, Antilles, I know where your bunk is.”

Luke grinned and leaned casually against the wall to watch the show. They could be here awhile. The only people who bantered and argued more than Han and Wedge were Han and Leia. 

He knew what he’d done at the Battle of Yavin would come back to torment him later. He would probably be forced to make more terrible decisions over the course of this war. There would be bad days to come. But he’d get through them, as long as he had his friends by his side. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time writing Wedge and Han, so sorry if they seem OOC.


	4. More than a Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes other realities bleed into one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU where Anakin never turned to the dark side and old Sheev-o was somehow defeated.
> 
> Merry Christmas! And Happy Holidays to those who may not celebrate Christmas. This is pure, self-indulgent fluff (with a dash of angst, because even when he’s from a completely different universe, poor Luke just can’t escape the trauma of Bespin). You have been warned. Seriously, though. Emphasis on the “self-indulgent.”

_The burning red blade flashed across his vision almost quicker than he could process, and he cried out in agony. He looked down in time to see the hilt of his lightsaber fall away, his hand still wrapped around it. A high pitch noise began ringing in his ears, and he stared numbly at the stump where his hand had been. He was so transfixed by the sight, he nearly missed the mechanical monster’s next words._

_“There is no escape. Don’t make me destroy you.”_

_He stumbled backward, toward the end of the gantry, trying to get away from the nightmare in front of him._

_“Luke,” the monster entreated, the machine-like voice rising in fevered passion, “you do not yet realize your importance. You have only begun to discover your power. Join me and I will complete your training. With our combined strength, we can end this destructive conflict and bring order to the galaxy!”_

_Anger, sharp and hot, temporarily overcame the fear and numbness._

_“I’ll never join you!” he snarled savagely._

_“If you only knew the power of the dark side.” The behemoth paused then continued, dark anticipation oozing from him. “Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father.”_

_“He told me enough,” he growled. “He told me_ you _killed him.”_

_The Force lashed around him. Something was coming. The world was shifting and he was in danger of falling over the edge, in more than just the physical sense. He braced himself, but nothing could have prepared him for what came next._

_“No,_ I _am your father.”_

_He screamed. He was trapped in the inky well of darkness, unable to breathe. It was like freezing and burning at the same time._

“Luke!”

_He couldn’t move. He couldn’t see. He could do nothing but scream and scream, praying for someone to save him._

“Wake up! _Luke_!” 

_He wanted to wake up. This had to be some horrible nightmare. It couldn’t be true. It was impossible!_

“Young one, please!” 

Something shook him, hard, and his eyes snapped open. He gasped and sputtered, heaving in deep breaths of air. Luke was utterly disoriented. He was lying on something soft, and large hands gripped his shoulders. 

The lights were flicked on, and Luke frantically took in his surroundings. He was in his bedroom on Coruscant. His podracing and starship posters were in their rightful places on the walls, and all his normal knickknacks were where they were supposed to be. The datapads he’d been reading were scattered across his desk, along with hand drawn blueprints and homework assignments. 

“Luke?” Luke’s wandering eyes were drawn to his dad, who was sitting on the edge of the bed. His dad caressed his face, gently wiping away tears Luke hadn’t even realized were there. His blue eyes were dark with concern, and Luke could feel his dad’s lingering panic across their bond. “Are you alright?”

“I…” An image of the monstrous Sith flashed through his mind, and he swore he could hear the sound of a respirator. He shuddered. “I don’t know.” 

His dad ran a hand through Luke’s hair, trying to soothe him. Normally, he would have protested the action. He was fifteen—too old to be treated like a child. In this case, however, he welcomed it. Luke couldn’t stop trembling, unable to lose this feeling of anxiety. 

“You were screaming,” his dad murmured. Luke winced. He was glad Leia and his mom were away on their annual Mother-Daughter Vacation. He would have hated to wake them up. “Was it a nightmare?”

“I think so.” He remembered vividly the feeling of his hand being sliced off. Luke fought down the nausea creeping up his throat. “It felt so real, though.” 

“What happened?”

 _“_ I _am your father.”_

Luke shivered, the unbidden words branded in his mind. 

He looked at his dad. Blue eyes. Dark blond hair. Worry lines creasing his forehead as he gazed back at his son. He was nothing like the Sith in his nightmare. There was no way Anakin Skywalker could or would ever turn into _that_. Sure, he had a temper. So did Luke. And Leia. Even his mom occasionally let her anger get the better of her. But his dad had _never_ hurt him—any of them. He never would. His dad was brave. He helped people. He was a _Jedi Master_. The day his dad turned into a Sith would be the day Luke gave up his Jedi training and started up moisture farming on some desert planet like Tatooine. It wasn’t happening. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

His dad narrowed his eyes. “Luke…”

“No, Father!” 

Eyebrows rose in surprise. “Since when do you call me ‘Father?’”

Luke shook his head, suddenly feeling dizzy. _Why did I call him that?_ “I meant Dad.” 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Luke?” A hand pressed against his forehead.

“I’m fine.” He moved his head back, dislodging the hand. “It was just a nightmare.”

A shadow passed over his dad’s face. “Sometimes nightmares are more than just nightmares, Luke.” 

“If that was supposed to be reassuring, it’s not working.” 

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to scare you.” 

“Can we talk about this in the morning?”

“Luke, I really think—”

“Please, Dad! I don’t want to think about it right now.”

“Fine,” he conceded. “But we _will_ be discussing this, young one.” 

“I promise I’ll talk about it all you want tomorrow.” Luke knew he was going to regret that later. 

His dad squeezed his shoulder and rose. “I’ll let you get back to sleep.” 

He was almost to the door when Luke felt a flare of panic. 

“Wait!” His dad turned, confusion on his face. Luke blushed and looked down, finding his blanket easier to look at. He was too old for this, but… “Can you...can you stay with me until I fall asleep?” 

He smiled softly and nodded, making his way back to the bed. Luke scooted over to make room, and his dad settled on top of the covers, leaning his back against the headboard. With a wave of the Force, his dad switched the lights off. 

“Thanks,” Luke muttered, still embarrassed. He hadn’t asked his dad to stay with him for years. 

“I didn’t mind when you were eight, and I don’t mind now.” His dad nudged him. “Now go to sleep.”

Luke closed his eyes and burrowed further under the blankets, trying to quiet his mind. He was drifting off, almost asleep…

 _“_ I _am your father.”_

He flinched and squeezed his eyes shut tighter. He couldn’t get that stupid Sith out of his head. It wasn’t even real. Luke shouldn’t be acting like this. Why couldn’t he just forget about it? The cold dread wouldn’t leave him. It clung to him like a suffocating shroud. Deciding to abandon his pride completely, Luke pressed close to his dad. He breathed in the smell of him and curled his fingers in the hem of his dad’s sleep shirt. He let his presence wash over him, willing it to drown out the fear and keep the images from the nightmare at bay. 

An arm wrapped around him and pulled him closer to his dad’s side. 

“You’re okay.” He felt his dad briefly press his lips to the top of his head. His thumb rubbed circles against Luke’s shoulder. “I’m here. I would never let anyone hurt you, Luke. Never.” 

_...he stared numbly at the stump where his hand had been. He was so transfixed by the sight, he nearly missed the mechanical monster’s next words._

_“There is no escape. Don’t make me destroy you.”_

“I know, Dad.”


	5. Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seventeen-year-old Luke Skywalker runs away from home and defects to the Rebel Alliance. Vader deals with the fall-out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait until a little later to post this, but it's been sitting on my computer for about a week now and apparently I have no self-control whatsoever. So here, have another chapter. 
> 
> This is an AU where Vader found Luke as a baby and raised him. The Emperor still lives.

Vader was standing at the head of the table in one of the conference rooms on the Imperial Star Destroyer _Devastator_ , which was currently orbiting Imperial Center. Around the table, his officers were seated and in the midst of a heated, but still civil (for the moment) debate. 

He wished his presence wasn’t needed, but without him it was unlikely his men would make any progress. They were extremely prone to bickering. He was surrounded by incompetents. Command meetings, along with paperwork, were the bane of his existence. He was in desperate need of new command staff. Vader had been following a few different Imperial careers who looked promising. Lieutenant Firmus Piett of the ISD _Accuser_ , for example, showed great potential. The lieutenant was rising through the ranks rapidly, and he did not appear to be using familial ties to do so like many Imperial officers were guilty of. 

Vader was broken from his musings by raised voices. 

“You think the Rebels stand a chance against us?” a younger officer demanded, derision dripping from his voice. 

“They have shown themselves to be resourceful in the past,” another snapped in reply. “We would be wise not to underestimate them. We can’t allow them to gain more ground than they already have.” 

“You sound as though you admire them, Commander,” the younger officer accused. 

“You go too far, Lieutenant!” 

Vader sighed internally and readied himself to intervene by way of Force choking. His adolescent son was more well-behaved than this group of full-grown men. 

Without warning, the Force screamed at him, and it took all his self-control not to flinch. It went silent seconds later, and Vader reached out, trying to discern what was wrong. His heart, had it not been regulated, would have stopped at what he found. There was a nothingness in part of his mind—the part where Luke usually resided. It was empty, as if his presence had just vanished. 

He forced himself not to panic. Perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps Luke had suddenly learned to shield very, very well. Vader didn’t notice the room had gone dead quiet in response to his hands clenching and the sudden drop in temperature. 

_Luke!_ he called out through their bond, which now felt chillingly one-sided. There was no response, not even a subconscious acknowledgment. Vader stiffened in alarm. _Luke, answer me!_

Silence. 

The seventeen-year-old was willful, but he had never intentionally ignored a mental call from his father. What had happened? Why wasn’t he responding? Why couldn’t he feel him? Was he deeply unconscious? Hot rage flowed like vitriol through his blood, pounding in his ears. If his son had been harmed in _any_ way, he would _annihilate_ whoever was responsible. If he was de—no! He wasn’t! Vader would know for sure if Luke was... 

“M-my Lord?” somebody whimpered. 

Vader snapped back to his current surroundings. The walls were buckling. Cracks were forming along the ceiling and viewport. Datapads were trembling where they rested on the table. The table itself was shaking. The officers were cowering in their chairs. With tremendous difficulty, Vader reigned in his rage and fear—if he breached the viewport and sent them all into the vacuum of space, while Vader would survive (at least temporarily), it would make getting to Luke that much harder. 

Without a word, Vader stormed from the room and toward the closest hangar bay. He wasted no time choosing a shuttle, and he immediately set course for the planet below. He made the normally ten minute flight in half the time, nearly crashing against the far wall of his hangar when he arrived in his palace. He didn’t bother powering the engines down. With a negligent wave of the Force, the boarding ramp lowered. 

“Lord Vader!” A few of his aides approached him, looking bewildered and slightly panicked. They were clearly wondering about his unannounced and harried arrival. Vader gestured sharply and they slammed into the closest wall, sliding to the ground unconscious. He didn’t have time to answer asinine questions. Blessedly, he received no more interruptions on the way to Luke’s quarters. 

“Luke!” Vader bellowed, not even bothering to knock before barging into the room. Empty. It had been a long-shot, but Vader was still disappointed. 

Clothes and possessions were scattered about the room, as if a sandstorm had blown through. With rising dread, Vader checked his son’s closet. Just as he’d feared, Luke’s travelling pack was gone. 

_Son,_ he tried through the Force, desperate, but Vader was again met with nothing. 

A flashing light coming from the middle of Luke’s bed caught his attention. It was a holoprojector, and the flashing light indicated there was a pre-recorded message. His hands were prosthetic. They still shook minutely when he reached to turn the message on. 

The small, blue image of Luke came to life. He was standing with his hands relaxed at his sides, deceptively casual. But Vader knew Luke. He knew to look for the tell-tale signs of stress. Luke’s jaw was clenched and the fingers on his right hand kept twitching subtly. Anyone else wouldn’t have noticed. Vader wasn’t anyone else. Despite his son’s tense body language, there was determination shining in his eyes. Luke opened his mouth and Vader leaned forward unconsciously. 

_“To start off, I’m not dead. You can’t feel me because I found someone to teach me how to block our connection. I can’t risk you locating me through the bond.”_ Luke’s face creased briefly in contrition before smoothing out again. 

_“You’re probably angry right now,”_ he continued. _“I’m sure you see this as a betrayal_. _”_ Luke paused, his gaze falling to the ground. He took a deep breath and looked back up resolutely. _“But I can’t stay with you. I can’t ignore what you’ve been doing anymore. I can’t pretend to myself that the Empire is what the galaxy needs. I’ve realized some things—about myself and you.”_

Luke’s hands clenched and unclenched. _“You don’t...love_ me _. You love the_ idea _of me—the idea of a_ son _. You want to keep me here—locked up, safe. I’m just something for you to_ have _. You don’t care about what I want or love. You only care about what I can do for you. You want something you can shape into whatever you will.”_

His son was making an admirable effort to remain strong, but Vader could see tears welling in his eyes. The sight caused something in Vader’s chest to throb in pain. He’d always hated to see Luke cry. 

_“I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment.”_ Luke’s voice wavered and Vader watched his throat bob as he swallowed. _“I’m sorry I’m not what you want—that I won't sit by and let you mold me into something I’m not. I’m not a weapon you can use. I’m not a possession you can keep tucked away.”_ His son’s expression abruptly hardened, eyes burning with passion. _“I’m a person and my name is Luke.”_

The next instant, Luke’s face softened, and Vader was reminded of Padmé not for the first time while looking at his son. _“Goodbye, Father. I hope you understand I’m not doing this to hurt you. Despite everything, I...I still love you.”_

Luke smiled sadly and the holograph flickered and disappeared. 

Vader couldn’t move. Even if the Emperor himself had ordered him, Vader wouldn’t have been able to. He would have stopped breathing were it not for his respirator. 

Breathe in...breathe out…

He was gone. Luke was gone. Padmé’s son. _His_ son. The tiny baby who would wrap his little hands around his finger. The toddler who would tug on his cape and trip over Vader’s boots. The five-year-old who would cling to Vader’s leg and refuse to let go whenever he had to go on missions. The nine-year-old who was so ecstatic about building his first droid, he slipped on a hydrospanner whilst bouncing around and gave himself a concussion on the workbench. The thirteen-year-old who would pester and beg his father to fly one of Vader’s ships from his extensive collection. The fifteen-year-old who became withdrawn but always took the time to ask after Vader’s well-being. The now seventeen-year-old who still wore his heart on his sleeve and was too stubborn for his own good. That boy—that bright, clumsy, precious, naïve, loving, intelligent boy—was gone.

_“I found someone to teach me how to block our connection.”_

Vader had to leave Luke’s room before he destroyed it in his ire. Someone had taught Luke to block out his father. _Someone_ had poisoned his son against him—had filled his head with lies. They had made him think he had to run from his own father—that Vader did not care for him. Now he was out there either alone or with unknown beings, without his father to protect him. He could be taken advantage of or hurt or killed. 

He strode into his training room, lightsaber already ignited.

“Activate!” Vader thundered. 

Across the room, a row of dueling droids came to life and lunged for him. The first one to reach him was immediately sliced in half. 

Whoever this _someone_ was, they would regret ever coming near his son. Vader would make their death especially painful and drawn out for turning Luke against him. He _would_ get his son back. He would find him and bring him back where he belonged—where Vader could protect him once more. Convincing his master to let him pursue this would be tricky, but he would succeed. He had to. Nothing would keep him from his son.

He stood in the center of the training room, respirator working overtime. Around him, the dueling droids lay scattered in dozens of pieces. His fury was far from sated, but he held on to it and buried it deep down inside. He would let it fester and grow, and wait for the right time to release it. Vader would save it for the fool who had the audacity to take his son from him. 

“Send someone to clean the mess in my training room,” Vader barked into his commlink, not bothering to wait for an answer. He didn’t have the time nor the patience to do it himself at the moment. He marched from the room toward his private holoprojection chamber. He had an audience with the Emperor to request and a wayward offspring to reclaim. 

When he found his son, Vader would make certain he could never run away again. He would do whatever it took to keep the boy safe—even from himself if necessary.


	6. Illusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here there be weird Force temples and weird Force illusions. Vader lets his emotions get the best of him. What else is new?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set shortly after ANH. Vader knows Luke is his son.

Luke scowled at his bound hands, resisting the urge to jerk away from the black leather glove that encircled his arm, dragging him along the corridor. 

“If you would only cooperate, Skywalker, I would not have to resort to binders.”

Luke pointedly ignored his captor. 

He received the impression of a frustrated sigh and Luke smirked. Good. He would hate to make this easy on the man. 

Luke was astounded how quickly a routine scouting mission could go sour the moment Darth Vader showed up. At least Luke had been sent alone. While he was currently alive, Luke had a feeling if anyone else had been with him, they would be dead right now. The alive-only bounty seemed to suggest it was mostly him Vader was interested in. 

The hallways they were traversing were poorly lit. The worn stone walls glowed softly, casting a sickly green light across their path. He couldn’t tell what made the stones glow—where the source of the light was coming from. It was all very strange and unsettling. Luke felt increasingly claustrophobic the longer they were here. Contrasting Vader’s iciness, the temple they were trapped in exuded stifling hot tendrils. 

He did not like this place and he was very eager to leave. If only Vader hadn’t caved in the entrance in an attempt to keep Luke from fleeing. For some reason, to Vader’s extreme irritation, the slab that had slammed shut over the entrance refused to budge. Instead, after a brief argument which consisted of Vader disarming Luke, cuffing him, and “convincing” him that in order to escape they had to work together, they found themselves wandering aimlessly through the frankly enormous temple. It hadn’t looked this large on the outside. 

“Are you _sure_ you know where you’re going?” Luke couldn’t resist asking one more time. 

An odd noise escaped Vader’s vocoder and the hand clamped around his arm tightened almost painfully. “ _Yes_.” 

Luke didn’t need the Force to know Vader’s patience (what little he’d had to begin with) was almost spent. Privately, because he did have _some_ self-preservation instincts, Luke didn’t think the man had any clue how to get out of this Force-forsaken building. 

Vader abruptly yanked Luke forward, causing him to stumble slightly. “I find your lack of faith disturbing,” he snapped.

_Kriff. I really need to work on my shielding._

“You are correct,” Vader said. “That is the first thing I will teach you. It is imperative you know how to shield.” 

“Are you reading my mind?” Luke growled. He didn’t want his father’s murderer anywhere near his thoughts.

“I do not need to. You project your thoughts and feelings quite loudly, young one.” 

“Don’t call me _—_ ” The rest of Vader’s statement caught up to him. “Wait, teach me? What makes you think I’d let you teach me anything?”

The temperature dropped, which was a welcome relief against the tendrils of heat, but still bad because it meant Vader’s anger was seconds away from being unleashed. “You will not have a choice.” 

Luke wisely kept his mouth shut. Just because Vader didn’t seem inclined to kill or hurt him now didn’t mean he wouldn’t accidentally do so if he lost his temper.

* * *

“We are almost there.”

Luke startled. Vader’s voice was loud in the silence that had descended. 

“How can you tell?”

“The Force, Skywalker.” The exasperated bemusement Vader projected made Luke’s face go red. “Indeed, you have much to learn.”

Luke’s heart sped up. His window of opportunity to escape was closing. He might be able to get away once they got outside, but the binders and Vader’s tight hold would make things tricky. 

The dimly lit tunnel they were in started to lighten and Luke could smell the fresh air. They turned a corner and about ten meters away was an opening. The sun spilled in, brightly illuminating the rest of their path. Luke unconsciously slowed down, his fear spiking. He couldn’t go with Vader. The man might not want him dead, but that didn’t mean interrogation was off the table. He was probably going to torture him. 

“Keep up,” Vader barked, pulling him closer and forcing him to walk faster. Luke could feel his impatience as it hung heavily in the air. 

They were halfway to the exit when the air in front of them started to shimmer. Vader stopped unexpectedly and Luke almost tripped. The shimmering coalesced into the shape of a woman. 

The Force erupted with a maelstrom of emotions _—_ anger, hatred, grief, guilt, fear. They swelled and thrashed around, fighting for dominance. Vader’s intense feelings were like boulders in his mind. He had to fight hard to keep them from overwhelming him, and even then he could still feel a migraine spreading behind his eyes. Vader tugged Luke against his chest, his grip most likely leaving bruises.

“ _What is this_?” Vader hissed.

Luke dared not breathe a word. 

_“Anakin, you’re breaking my heart,”_ the woman cried, her pale face _—_ framed by luxurious brown curls _—_ twisted in grief. Distantly, Luke thought she looked astonishingly like Leia. 

Wait. Anakin?

“What _—_?”

Vader snarled, interrupting his question, and the walls started trembling. The woman reached out a hand and Vader _—_ to Luke’s complete shock _—_ took a step back, as if he was...afraid?

 _“Come away with me,”_ she pleaded. _“Help me raise our child. Leave everything else behind while we still can.”_

“ _Stop this_!” Vader roared. The whole tunnel was shaking uncontrollably, and Luke feared Vader would bring it down on top of them. 

_“Stop, stop now. Come back! I love you.”_

Cracks appeared in the ceiling, the walls, and Luke decided it was time for him to intervene somehow. He had no idea what was going on. He didn’t know what connection this woman had with his father, though he had his suspicions, and he certainly didn’t know why Vader was reacting this way. But, he did know one thing. The translucent woman in front of them wasn’t real. She was an apparition, a trick. Luke could feel it.

“Vader!” Luke shouted, trying to twist around to face him, to no avail. Vader’s hold on him was too tight. “It’s not real!” 

The man didn’t react one bit to Luke’s words or movements. Glancing behind him, Luke could see his mask was pointed straight ahead. He sensed Vader’s eyes were fixed on the woman as she continued to beg and cry. Luke attempted to wriggle out of Vader’s grasp—maybe he could escape while he was distracted—but it was futile. 

“You’re going to kill us both if you don’t calm down!” he tried. Still no response. 

Luke groaned. There was nothing for it. He was going to have to reach Vader through the Force. This was probably not going to be pleasant. Closing his eyes, he breathed in and out, trying to shut out his surroundings and find calm. He stretched out and approached Vader’s mind. Immediately, he was rebuffed by durasteel walls. Nothing he did was going to break through those, not with the limited Force training he had. Nor did he want to violate the man’s privacy, despite that Vader had likely done exactly the same thing to countless others.

 _Vader?_ He lightly prodded against the shields. 

Quick as a striking sand viper, the freezing black hole that was Vader snaked around him and squeezed. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe, and something burning cold struck back at his own mind in instinctive retaliation. Luke opened his mouth in a silent scream of pain, unable to make a sound because of the pressure around his throat. 

_No!_ Luke cried. His only means of survival was to try to contact Vader mentally. He was obviously unaware of what was going on around him, and he saw Luke’s presence trying to breach his mind as a threat. _I’m trying to help!_

Nothing changed and Luke started to panic. Black spots were forming in his vision, and he could still hear the tunnel rumbling around them. Pebbles and small pieces of stone were beginning to rain down. 

_She’s not real…_ he sent weakly—a last desperate attempt. _Please...stop..._

The cold spike that was drilling into his mind ceased, but he still couldn’t move or breathe. 

_Luke?_ Vader sounded confused, which was a novelty in of itself. Too bad Luke couldn’t enjoy the moment. Unable to form words anymore, using the last of his strength, Luke sent a flare of acknowledgement. 

The invisible vise around his throat disappeared, and he gasped and sputtered painfully. The sharp edges of Vader’s Force presence softened and brushed against his mind. They surrounded him gently, cradling him instead of drilling or lashing out. It was still cold, but it wasn’t painful. He felt his knees buckle, his body also released from the crushing, immobilizing stranglehold. Strong arms caught him before he could get far. Luke was lifted and held against a broad chest, his head coming to rest against an armored shoulder. He was vaguely aware the tunnel had stopped moving, and he couldn’t hear the woman anymore. 

_I am...sorry, my son,_ pulsed almost hesitantly through his mind. 

The utter bewilderment of 1. Darth Vader apologizing and 2. Darth Vader calling him son pushed him the rest of the way into blissful oblivion. Luke was going to have some questions when he woke up.


	7. Revenge (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A member of Vader's crew wants to make sure Luke Skywalker suffers the appropriate consequences for his actions with the Rebellion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was getting long, so I broke it up into two parts. Part Two will be posted within a few days.
> 
> Syl Elgrin and Anto Cadev are OCs that I made up.

Luke Skywalker. The terrorist responsible for destroying the Death Star. His father had been stationed on the Death Star. Luke Skywalker had murdered his father. He should be locked up in a cell. He should be interrogated within an inch of his life for any and all Rebel intel he may possess. He should be executed painfully and publicly. 

Ensign Syl Elgrin snorted bitterly and knocked back his third shot of Corellian ale. He welcomed the sensation of the alcohol burning down his throat, and he gestured with his index finger for the bartender to refill his glass. 

When news of Lord Vader capturing Skywalker had reached him, Syl had felt a vicious spike of satisfaction. Finally, the Rebel scum would face the consequences of his actions. Yet, to Syl’s intense irritation, instead of being brought to justice for his crimes, it seemed that Skywalker was being treated more like an honored guest aboard the _Executor_. According to ship gossip, Lord Vader and Skywalker were nigh inseparable. Skywalker apparently occupied the previously unused quarters in Lord Vader’s private wing of the ship. Skywalker had been seen walking about the ship completely unrestrained. One outrageous rumor, reported by a gaggle of stormtroopers, suggested that Lord Vader and Skywalker spent time together in Lord Vader’s private hangar bay working on broken ships. 

Syl ground his teeth and downed another shot. 

“Careful there, Elgrin.” Ensign Anto Cadev plopped down beside him at the bar. “Aren’t you on-duty in five hours? Don’t think you want to be caught drunk during your shift.”

“Leave me alone, Cadev,” Syl snapped.

“Alright, jeez.” Anto raised his hands in surrender. “Who put bantha poodoo in _your_ jawa juice?”

“Skywalker,” Syl growled. 

“What about him?”

“Why hasn’t Lord Vader put him in his place?”

Anto shrugged, unconcerned. “No idea. It’s not our place to question Lord Vader. He knows what he’s doing.” 

“Oh yeah, I’m _sure_ he does,” Syl intoned sarcastically. “That’s why I heard Skywalker laughed at him yesterday on the bridge, like he told a joke or something. Who laughs at Lord Vader and lives?”

“Don’t tell me you actually believe those ridiculous rumors going around,” Anto demanded. “There’s no way any of it’s true.”

“How do you know it’s not true?”

“Like you said, there’s no way anyone could get away with laughing at Lord Vader. Besides, have you seen any of these interactions for yourself?”

“Well, no,” Syl admitted. “But it’s not like we get around the ship all that often. We work in the mess hall, Anto.” 

“Touché.”

“Whether any of it’s real or not, if Lord Vader doesn’t do something about Skywalker soon, _I_ will.” 

“Syl…”

“No, Anto! Don’t tell me to ‘be careful.’” Syl jabbed a finger against Anto’s chest. “That sithspawn has to _pay_ for what he did to my father!” 

Anto shook his head in disapproval and smacked Syl’s finger away. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Not if nobody knows it was me.”

“ _I_ would know it was you!”

“Just don’t tell anyone.” 

Anto groaned in frustration. “How would you even pull it off?”

Syl sat back, stumped. How _could_ he kill Skywalker without anyone finding out it was him? Just then, the door to the kitchen slid open and a silver protocol droid stepped through carrying a food tray. 

“Skywalker has to get food somehow, doesn’t he?” Syl asked. 

“Yeah…” Anto said slowly. “So?”

A slow smirk spread across Syl’s face. “It would be a shame if someone _tampered_ with it.”

* * *

It had been two weeks since his father caught him, and so far nothing had gone like Luke thought it would. After Bespin, he didn’t know what to expect. Would Vader be angry at Luke’s rejection? Would he take him straight to the Emperor? Was the offer to kill the Emperor together still open? There were so many unanswered questions and unknowns. Luke hadn’t been ready to meet his father so soon after Cloud City.

The Force, apparently, disagreed. Not three months post-Bespin, Luke had been sent on a supply run. Vader had shown up and his team, which included Leia, had been captured. Luke had managed to bargain with Vader—he would go with him if Vader let his friends go. His father had agreed, Leia had protested vehemently, and Luke had found himself restrained with a pair of binders and in a shuttle bound for the _Executor_.

Luke expected to be lead to a cell. Instead, Vader brought him to quarters that resided in Vader’s private wing. His rooms were large, with a ‘fresher, a sitting room, and a bedroom, but they weren’t overly lavish. Vader’s own quarters were right next to his. 

At first, their interactions had been stilted and filled with tension. Luke didn’t know where he stood with his father, and Vader obviously had no idea how to approach his son. More often than not, their attempts at conversation would end in shouting matches and one of them storming off. 

After two weeks, they were getting better. Luke had agreed to help Vader destroy the Emperor, and in return Vader had agreed to stop pestering Luke about the dark side. They had come to a shaky truce, but they did still have _disagreements_ occasionally. 

Like now, for example.

“Father, please! You at least have to tell me her name.”

The temperature dropped significantly and his father’s presence darkened.

“I do not _have_ to do anything!” Vader’s finger came awfully close to poking him in the eye. “Your mother is not up for discussion, and that is final!”

Luke finally felt his temper snap. Abandoning all self-preservation skills and common sense, he knocked his father’s finger away from his face and took an angry step forward. “Did you not love her?” he demanded. “Was she just some fling? Why won’t you tell me? _I deserve to know_!”

Cold invisible fingers wrapped around his throat and squeezed. Luke’s eyes widened and his mouth opened, gasping for air that wouldn’t come. As quickly as the pressure had descended, it disappeared. Luke dragged in a breath and watched his father take a stumbling step backward. He could feel Vader’s regret and remorse. But all he said was, “Do not ever speak to me in such a manner again.”

He turned on his heel and strode out of Luke’s quarters, cape flaring behind him. 

Luke stood in shock for a few moments after the door slid closed. Then he registered his shaky legs, and he sat—more like fell—down on the ground, burying his head in his knees. He felt his eyes burn and he blinked rapidly; he didn’t want to cry. Luke rested there for awhile, trying to calm his agitated heart and keep himself from bursting into tears. 

That was the first time Vader had…Since Bespin, his father hadn’t laid a hand on him. Luke could tell he’d been making a conscious effort not to harm him whenever his temper rose. It would seem he had finally pushed Vader too far. 

Luke gritted his teeth and furiously wiped away a tear that had escaped. All he wanted was to know about his mother. Just a name would be enough for now. Didn’t he have the right to know his own mother’s name?

His door slid open and Luke shot to his feet. If his father had returned…

It was just a protocol droid. It walked up to him and offered him the tray in its arms. “It is lunchtime, sir.”

Glancing at the chrono on the wall, Luke was surprised to see that it was indeed only lunchtime. It felt like days had passed instead of just the morning. In fact, he was already tired. He supposed arguing with one’s father and then being Force choked would suck the energy right out of a person. 

He took the tray with a nod. “Thank you,” Luke said.

“You are welcome, sir,” the droid responded in a dull monotone voice. It left a second later. 

Luke sighed and set the tray on the coffee table. He sat down on the couch and removed the lid. It looked like the normal officer’s soup. There was also a piece of bread and a few slices of jogan fruit along with a glass of water. He wasn’t especially hungry at the moment, but Luke hated the thought of wasting food. He dug in. The food tasted fine as usual, although the soup was a little more bitter than it had been. He felt a vague feeling of anxiety, which only grew with every bite he took. Luke brushed it off as lingering fear and stress from the earlier argument. 

The feeling of anxiety blared into full-on warning bells the moment he finished the soup. His mouth suddenly felt dry and he drained the glass of water in seconds. The liquid did nothing. Luke stood to go get more water...and immediately doubled over as pain shot through his stomach like tiny vibroblades. He fell to his knees and vomit burned a trail up his esophagus and spewed from his mouth. Luke was alarmed to see blood in the sick on the carpet. 

He attempted to stand again, but the room twirled lazily around him. He blinked. When he next opened his eyes, he found himself lying sprawled on the floor next to the puddle of vomit. He felt hot and cold, like he was burning under the suns of Tatooine and then being submerged in the snow on Hoth.

This was very bad. He needed help. His commlink was...too far away. Maybe with the Force...The Force! He didn’t need a commlink. Luke could contact his father without one. Luke grasped tremulously at the Force, following the link that connected him to Vader. His father’s mind was locked down tight, shielded with a duracreet shroud. Luke pounded on it with all the strength he could muster—which wasn’t much. Vader felt it anyway, and the shroud closed tighter. 

_I do not wish to be disturbed._

_Father, I...I don’t...something’s wrong._

Concern. Questioning.

_The food. Something was wrong with the food._

Pain spiked through his stomach again and he cried out, his contact with his father wavering. The shields around Vader’s mind flew wide open and he brushed Luke’s mind. Alarm. Panic. Anger. He could feel all of these emotions and more come from his father, even as Vader’s presence started rapidly moving in Luke’s direction. He was coming. His father was coming. Help was coming...


	8. Revenge (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vader gets a wake up call in regards to Luke. Meanwhile, Syl Elgrin's days are numbered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder, Syl Elgrin and Anto Cadev are OCs. 
> 
> Enjoy Part Two of Two!

Vader was brooding. No, not brooding. Vader didn’t _brood_. He was... _contemplating_. Staring unseeingly at the white walls of his hyperbaric chamber, he _contemplated_ his son. Why must he be so stubborn? So insolent? _Surely_ Luke hadn’t inherited these traits from him? They must originate from _her_. 

He quickly ground the direction his thoughts were going to dust. He would not think of her. He _could_ not think of her—not without a miasma of agony, bitter contrition, and anger. It shouldn’t shock him that Luke wanted to know about his mother, yet he had been blindsided by his son’s inquiry concerning her. 

They had expressed civil—dare he say pleasant—greetings that morning. There had been talk of how to proceed with Luke’s training as well as when they could next spend time working on ships in the hangar. Everything was proceeding amicably enough. Then Luke had gone quiet. Vader had sensed heightened nervousness from him, though he’d tried to shield it. 

_“Who is my mother?”_ Luke had asked. 

Wholly unprepared for such a question, Vader had gazed at his son blankly. It took him a few seconds to process the plaintive query, and when he did his heart—what was left of it—clenched violently. Angered and hurt, Vader had rebuked him. From there, the entire conversation had gone into the trash compactor.

He regretted his treatment of his son. Before that morning’s incident, Vader had been meticulous about refraining from hurting his son. Bespin had been...an error. Force would not endear his son to him or gain him his loyalty. He needed to use _gentler_ methods, which had so far been effective. He couldn’t allow himself to harm Luke again. Seeing his face twist into fear just as _her’s_ had on Mustafar was more than he could bear. If only the boy would learn not to push him. If Luke had backed down when Vader had told him the first time, he wouldn’t have lashed out in such a manner.

 _He’s your son_ , a voice whispered in the back of his mind. _He shouldn’t have to worry about being strangled if he triggers your temper—accidentally or otherwise._

Soft knocking against the shields around his mind kept him from examining that thought in greater detail. His son was trying to gain his attention. Vader was irritated and leery all in one; he was still broodi— _contemplating_ , and he hadn’t quite calmed down from their earlier argument. He wanted to make sure he was collected enough not to start throttling his son again. If Luke was attempting to harass Vader about _her_ again...

 _I do not wish to be disturbed,_ he admonished, taking care to keep his shields raised. 

_Father, I...I don’t...something’s wrong._

Vader frowned, scars stinging at the motion. Luke’s mind-voice didn’t sound like it usually did. It was frail, tremulous. He stretched out to feel his son’s mood. There was fear, which was fast morphing into panic, and an undercurrent of bewilderment. Vader didn’t answer in words, but he sent a silent question.

 _The food. Something was wrong with the food._ Luke’s reply was immediately followed by sharp pain, rushing like a flood from his son’s side of the bond. 

Vader re-donned his mask and helmet faster than he ever had before. He barely waited for the hyperbaric chamber to open all the way before he was ducking through, bumping the top of his helmet on the way out. Something was terribly wrong with Luke, and concepts such as dignity and waiting for doors to finish opening couldn’t have been further from his mind. He reached out to his son again, attempting to determine why he was in distress. Along with the intense pain, nausea also bombarded him, nearly making him stumble. Luke’s Force presence, normally akin to staring at both Tatooine’s suns, was dim—like a small, dying candle in the middle of a cavernous pitch black room. Even as Vader watched, it grew dimmer. 

His quarters were right next to Luke’s, but the time it took for him to come bursting into his son’s sitting room (it couldn’t have been more than thirty seconds) still felt intolerably long to Vader. The scene before him would never leave him for as long as he lived.

Luke was lying on the floor, limbs askew. He was pale—so, so pale—translucent almost, and he was shivering. Next to him, the carpet was stained with an ominous, unknown substance— _was that blood?_

“Luke!” 

His son’s name ripped from his throat before he consciously realized his mouth had opened. Galvanized out of his stunned horror, Vader crossed the room in two strides, practically falling to his knees beside Luke. Absentmindedly, he pushed a button on his comm to summon a medic. Up close, Vader could see that Luke was sweating, even though he trembled as though he was cold. His lips had an alarming blue-ish tint to them. Vader's hands hovered over Luke for a moment, unsure where to place them, almost afraid to touch. 

Luke’s eyes, which had previously been closed, slid open. They were glassy and pain-filled. His lost expression compelled Vader to gently cradle the side of his son’s face, and his other hand landed lightly on Luke’s shoulder. 

“Luke,” he called. Vader needed to get his attention. He needed to keep Luke awake. Unfocused eyes came to rest on Vader’s mask. 

“Father,” he rasped, wincing and coughing.

“Do not speak!” Vader cringed internally. That had come out much harsher than he intended. Indeed, Luke flinched slightly. “Save your strength,” he continued as softly as the vocoder would allow. “The medic will arrive shortly.”

His son hummed his assent and didn’t try speaking again. Time passed in which Vader wondered where in Sith hell the medic was and occupied himself with anxiously observing Luke’s Force presence. For one terrible moment, it flickered out. Before Vader could launch into a rage-filled panic, the light flickered back. But it was so very weak.

At last, the medic entered Luke’s quarters, and Vader resisted the temptation to murder the man for taking so long. If he did that, he would have to summon another medic, and Luke would be kept from medical intervention even longer. 

“Help him!” Vader snapped.

The medic scurried over and began scanning Luke. The scanner pinged and the man’s eyes widened in response. “He’s been poisoned, my Lord.”

Poisoned. His blood burned and pounded through his body as his fury rose to devastating heights. Someone had dared to harm his son? To attempt to murder him? Vader tamped down on his ire viciously. He could not afford anger right now. He would find and punish— _most_ severely—those responsible later. Luke needed him. 

“Do we have access to an antidote?” Vader demanded. 

“I’ll need to stabilize him before we can move him,” the medic replied, injecting a hypospray into Luke’s upper arm as he spoke, “but then it is only a matter of purging the poison from his system. There is no antidote for this—” Vader stiffened and the medic hastily continued “—but we caught the poison’s progression in time. It won’t do permanent damage. If he’d been left like this much longer, I’m afraid he would’ve been beyond help.” 

Vader barely prevented a shudder from wracking his body. He refused to think of the what-ifs. Luke was being stabilized and he would recover. A thread of worry still lingered, but Vader tried to ignore it. His son would be fine. He moved to stand, in order to give the medic more room to work, but was halted by a clumsy hand reaching up to brush against his arm. Luke was looking at him with half-lidded eyes. 

“Stay,” he pleaded.

“The medic needs room to attend you, Luke.”

“Please,” Luke whispered, feebly gripping the sleeve covering Vader’s arm.

He couldn’t deny his son, not after that close call. Not when he looked so vulnerable. He settled back down and clasped his son’s hand, unable to take his gaze off Luke’s face as the medic moved around, working to get Luke ready for transportation. 

Vader thought about the argument they’d had that morning—about Luke’s mother. It struck him that his son could have died without ever knowing his mother’s name. New guilt, in addition to the regret he already felt for Force choking Luke, washed over him. The boy deserved to know more about _her_. 

“Your mother,” he said, hoping the vocoder disguised how shaky his voice was. Luke blinked up at him, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. “Her name...her name was Padmé.”

Luke beamed at him. It was the first true smile Vader had seen from his son since he’d brought him to his side two weeks ago. 

“We will speak more of her later, young one,” Vader promised. And he meant it. It would be painful—for both of them—but it was time Luke knew. She— _Padmé_ —should be remembered. 

Sending his contentment of this over the bond, Luke closed his eyes. Vader pushed away his anxiousness. Luke would live, he consoled himself. Whoever did this to his son would not. 

* * *

“What did you do?” Anto hissed, cornering him in a deserted hallway. 

Syl smirked. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“I didn’t think you were idiotic enough to actually go through with it!”

“I told you,” Syl said irritably, “Skywalker needed to face justice. Besides, no one knows it was me.” 

Anto grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “You moron! Your plan failed. Skywalker lived, and now Lord Vader’s hunting down the person who’s responsible like an angered krayt dragon.”

“Skywalker’s _alive_?” Syl squawked. “ _How_? I got my hands on the nastiest poison I could find. There wasn’t even an antidote!” 

“I think you’re missing the point here!”

“What do you mean?”

“Lord Vader. Is. Going. To. _Kill_. You.” 

Syl scoffed. “Why would Lord Vader care whether a rebel lived or died?”

“I don’t know, but the man is on a kriffing rampage. He’s killed four people since yesterday!” 

“ _What_?” Syl paled, finally catching on that this was very bad. Yesterday was the day Syl had poisoned Skywalker’s lunch. 

“Just watch your back.” Anto patted him on the shoulder and began walking off. “Like you said, no one will know it was you.”

He was left alone in the corridor, nervous sweat beading on his forehead. 

* * *

Syl tried to go through his day as normally as possible, but Anto’s words from earlier kept circling his mind. He was skittish and jumped at the slightest noises. Anytime someone came up to talk to him, he wondered if this was it. If someone had found out that _he_ had poisoned Skywalker. He didn’t regret doing it; Syl _hated_ him. But he didn’t want to die either. 

It was a relief to enter his quarters at the end of his shift. The night cycle would be starting soon, and he was eager to lose himself in the oblivion of sleep. Syl sighed in satisfaction and slid under the standard Imperial sheets on his standard Imperial bed. Due to some glitch in the system, he was lucky enough not to have a roommate. He was sure this error would be rectified soon, but for now he enjoyed the solitude. 

Syl was just starting to drift off when heavy footsteps from out in the hallway jerked him to full wakefulness. He had just enough time to wonder what was going on before his door slid open and the hulking form of Darth Vader stormed into his room. His voice and breath caught in his throat, and it was all he could do to leap out of bed and snap to attention. 

“Ensign Elgrin,” Lord Vader thundered. He didn’t sound pleased at all. 

“Y-yes, my Lord?” Syl squeaked. 

“Do you know what you have done?” Lord Vader snarled. 

“My Lord?” Syl questioned, shaking where he stood in his sleep clothes. There was no way Lord Vader could know…

Lord Vader stepped forward menacingly and Syl backed up in terror. “Do not pretend you are ignorant. It was you who poisoned Skywalker.”

Syl froze. _How did he—?_

“There is holofootage of you tampering with his meal.” 

While 95% of his mind was freaking out, the other 5% was wondering how he could be so stupid. _Why_ hadn’t he thought to wipe the holofootage? Syl was suddenly filled with a burst of courage, or maybe it was just suicidal resignation. 

“Skywalker deserves to die!” he yelled. “He killed my father!” 

Syl choked and scrabbled at his throat, short of breath. An invisible grip lifted him into the air.

“Do you know who Skywalker is?” Lord Vader asked, ominously calm. 

“A...rebel,” Syl gargled. 

“Yes,” Lord Vader conceded. “And he is my son.” 

Eyes wide, vision going dark, Syl gasped, “Why...are you...telling me this?” 

“Because you will not be able to share it with anyone.” 

There was a sickening crack and Syl Elgrin knew no more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, college classes have resumed, and I’m taking a lot of reading and writing courses this semester. Unfortunately, this means I likely won’t have much - if any - time to work on new chapters. Updates will probably be nonexistent for the next few months or so.
> 
> In the meantime, thank you for all your support. <3


	9. Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke finds out who Anakin Skywalker really is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Can’t believe it’s almost been a year since I updated this thing. Unfortunately, along with everything else 2020 brought, writer’s block came to settle in for the long haul. Not completely over it yet, so still don’t expect frequent updates. 
> 
> AU where Owen and Beru tell Luke about Vader. I don’t 100% know if they knew Anakin became Vader in the movies, but in this they do. Obi-Wan told them about Anakin, but left out Leia and Padmé. That man is still keeping secrets smh. This story takes place two years before ANH and then during ANH. Everything happens the same in ANH until the scene in the hangar bay where everyone watches Vader and Obi-Wan duel each other. 
> 
> WARNING: There’s blood in this one. I don’t think it’s that graphic, but be careful just in case.

“Luke!”

Luke’s head snapped up from where he was hunched over a small, powered-down droid. He set the hydrospanner on the workbench and stood up, using a dirty rag to wipe most of the oil from his hands. A glance outside the garage showed the twin suns were low in the sky, which meant dinner was probably ready.

“Coming, Aunt Beru!”

He found his aunt and uncle waiting for him at the table in the kitchen, no food in sight. The expressions on their faces gave him pause. Uncle Owen looked grim—well, grimmer than usual. Aunt Beru looked anxious. When she saw Luke stop in the doorway, she shot him a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Eyes that were shadowed in resignation.

“Is...everything alright?” Luke asked.

“Have a seat, Luke,” Uncle Owen said. “There’s something we need to talk about.”

Unease stirred like the beginnings of a sandstorm in his stomach. He sat down across from his aunt and uncle. “Am I in trouble?”

“No, sweetheart.” Aunt Beru was quick to reassure. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Then what is it? You guys look like someone died.” Luke paled, eyes widening. “ _Did_ someone die?”

“No one’s dead and you’re not in trouble!” Uncle Owen grumbled. Aunt Beru shot him a look and he sighed. He didn’t look angry, just tired. “I’m sorry, Luke. It’s just...well, we’ve decided it’s time for you to know about your father.”

Luke’s brows knitted in confusion. “What about him? You told me he was a navigator on a spice freighter.”

“We did, yes.” Aunt Beru looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“And?” Luke prodded when no more answers were forthcoming.

Uncle Owen gazed at him for a moment. Luke started squirming under the scrutiny. Finally he said, “We dreaded the day we’d have to tell you this. But, you’re almost eighteen now, and if you’re serious about going to the academy…”

“We want you to know the whole truth before you make any decisions,” Aunt Beru finished.

Luke looked between his aunt and uncle, confusion rising along with frustration. “What do you mean ‘the whole truth?’ What does going to the academy have to do with my father?”

Aunt Beru reached across the table to squeeze his hand. “Your father wasn’t a navigator on a freighter, Luke.”

Luke opened his mouth.

“And he’s not dead,” Uncle Owen said.

Luke stiffened. His mind stuttered to a halt. “What?” Luke whispered.

Distantly, he saw his aunt and uncle exchange concerned glances.

One thought shot through the haze of shock, and he stood abruptly, dislodging his aunt’s hand. “Where is he?”

“Luke, honey, please sit down—”

“No!” Luke would later feel guilty for shouting at Aunt Beru, but for the moment he was too disoriented, too panicked, too confused to care. “You told me he died! Now you’re saying he’s alive? Where has he been? Why did he never…” His voice broke. _Why did he never come for me?_

“He doesn’t know you exist. We had to hide you from him because…” Uncle Owen swallowed, looking pained. “Because your father is Darth Vader.”

Darth Vader? The Emperor’s enforcer? The brutal killing machine Luke and the other children grew up hearing horror stories about? The large, armored shadow he sometimes caught glimpses of on the HoloNews when he went to Anchorhead? _That_ was his father?

Luke’s knees went weak and he stumbled back into his seat.

“Luke?” Aunt Beru sounded cautious, as if she was waiting for him to explode or crumble.

“But…” Luke didn’t feel like an almost-adult at that moment. He felt like he was five years old again, hiding under the bed because of the nightmare he’d had about Jabba’s pet rancor. Uncle Owen had gotten an earful from Aunt Beru for telling Luke about it. “But I thought Anakin Skywalker was my father.”

“He is,” Aunt Beru said gently. “Anakin _is_ Vader. They’re the same person.”

“How…? Why…?” So many questions were racing through his head, he couldn’t seem to voice a single coherent thought.

Uncle Owen sighed, deep and weary and regretful. “I know this is a shock, Luke. We’ll tell you what we know, and if you still have questions…” He hesitated and muttered something foul under his breath. Aunt Beru smacked him lightly on the shoulder. They seemed to have a short, silent argument. Evidently, his uncle lost because he continued—albeit grudgingly. “If you still have questions, there’s someone who can explain the situation better.”

“Who?”

“Ben Kenobi,” Uncle Owen growled. Before Luke could ask any one of the many inquiries this answer provided, his uncle hastened to add, “But we’re only going to him as a last resort!”

Luke wisely decided to leave the subject of Old Ben alone for now. Instead, he settled in to hear the story of how Anakin Skywalker managed to become Darth Vader, one of the most feared beings in the galaxy.

* * *

The stormtroopers rushed as one to the other side of the hangar, apparently to deal with some kind of disturbance. This was their best shot to reach the _Falcon_. Luke, Leia, and Han left the relative safety of the wall they’d sheltered behind and made a beeline for the ship. The sight at the other end of the hangar stopped them all in their tracks. The troopers that had gone to investigate earlier seemed to be transfixed as well.

Two lightsabers clashed together, one blue, one red. Their wielders, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Darth Vader, were in the midst of a focused duel.

“General Kenobi?” Luke heard Leia mutter beside him.

But Luke wasn’t focused on Ben. He was concerned for the man, certainly, but all of his attention was riveted on Darth Vader. Darth Vader, who was his father. This was his first time seeing Vader in person. Even from this distance, he could tell the HoloNews didn’t do Vader justice. They couldn’t capture his sheer presence. Luke couldn’t tear his eyes away. He had both hoped for and dreaded a meeting with the man who sired him. His childhood dreams of knowing his father had never completely faded, even after learning who he really was. To see him practically in the same room as Luke was at once thrilling and terrifying.

As Luke watched, alternating between fear and longing and concern, Ben stopped fighting. He stood still with his saber pointed at the ceiling and let Vader cut him down. Before Luke’s eyes, he disappeared and left behind only a pile of robes.

“ _No_!”

The shocked scream ripped out of his mouth. He’d lost too many people recently. Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen were dead, and now Ben, his last connection to Tatooine, was gone as well. He had been Luke’s last connection to his father too, without going directly to the source. The source, who had just murdered the man who had been like a brother to him, according to Ben’s stories about their adventures in the Clone Wars.

If Vader could kill Ben, someone he’d once been very close to, what would he do to Luke? As Vader turned toward him at the sound of his scream, Luke realized he was about to find out.

The stormtroopers had also noticed him, and they brought their blasters up and started shooting. Leia and Han shouted at him, screaming for him to shoot the blast door controls, to run to the Falcon. Luke hesitated a second too long.

Fire erupted in his chest. His mouth opened in a silent scream. All the noise—Han and Leia’s screams, the stormtroopers shouting, the blaster fire—was drowned out by the blood roaring in his ears. Slowly, Luke looked down and stared in morbid fascination at the growing stain of red on his light-colored tunic. He could do nothing as his legs buckled, and he found himself lying on his back, staring at the ceiling of Docking Bay 327.

Noise and pain crashed back into his awareness.

“ _Luke_!”

“ _Kid_!”

Leia. Han. He turned his head enough to see them. They were huddling around the ramp of the Falcon, staring at him in horror, obviously reluctant to just leave him. But they wouldn’t be able to escape in time if they came back for him.

“Go!” It came out weak and raspy. There was no way they heard him, but he knew they understood when Leia shook her head frantically and Han’s jaw clenched. Luke braced himself, sucked in as deep a breath as he could, and shouted, “ _Go_!”

He broke into a wet coughing fit that rattled his lungs. Something warm trickled from the corner of his mouth. Through blurring vision, he saw Leia’s anguished expression and Han’s solemn one before they ran up the ramp. Luke didn’t relax until the ramp was up and the Falcon had cleared the docking bay.

It was just him now, surrounded by dozens of stormtroopers. They kept their blasters trained on him. Luke didn’t see the point. He was barely in any shape to lift his head, let alone try to escape.

Luke felt Vader approach before he heard him. He could feel the cold burrow inside him, and it wasn’t just from blood loss. The sound of a respirator made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Troopers moved aside as the dark behemoth strode through the ranks to tower over Luke. It was like looking up into a nightmare. He couldn’t see Vader’s eyes through the red-tinted lenses, but Luke knew the man’s gaze was raking over him. He resisted the urge to flinch at the attention, mostly because he didn’t have much strength to move. _How_ could this monster be his father?

“Your accomplices have left you, Rebel.” Luke shivered at the dark, mechanized voice. “Tell me their plans, and I will grant you a swift death. Remain silent, and I will let you drown in your own blood.”

All those years as a child dreaming of meeting his father, and this is what it came to. Luke had never been more scared in his life, but he refused to let it show.

“I—” He coughed and strained for breath. “I won’t...tell…”

“I will find their location no matter what you do or do not divulge. You are prolonging your suffering in vain.”

Luke could _feel_ Vader’s disinterest. Vader didn’t care if Luke suffered or not. He was just going through the motions, taunting him. _Why_ did this man have to be his father? Ben was right. Vader was twisted and evil, more machine than man. Any hope Luke had that his father might still have good in him was fading every second Luke spent in Vader’s presence. There was no more light in the person looming over him like a specter of death.

“No…” Luke moaned, mortified to feel tears welling in his eyes. He was so tired. The room was beginning to spin and he felt almost like he was floating. It was so much work just to breathe. All he wanted was to close his eyes and have this be a dream.

“So be it.” He heard Vader shift as if to leave and freeze. There was a long pause. “ _Where did you get this_?”

Luke’s eyes shot open—he didn’t know when he’d shut them—at Vader’s sharp demand. His vision cleared just in time to see Vader’s gloved hand rise and the lightsaber attached to Luke’s belt fly into his grasp.

“‘S my father’s...yours…”

Luke’s muddled mind screamed at him, but he couldn’t tell why. The lightsaber _was_ his father’s. Why shouldn’t he say as much? His father might want it back.

Vader was utterly still; he continued to grip the lightsaber tightly in his hand. The stormtroopers shifted—whether in surprise or nervousness, Luke couldn’t tell.

“Your name?” Vader barked. Luke jolted. He had to stop zoning out. His father was trying to talk to him. “What is your name?”

“‘M Luke.”

“Luke _what_?”

There was something in the air—some sense of anticipation that Luke couldn’t figure out while his chest hurt, and he couldn’t breathe, and he was so, _so_ tired.

“Luke...Skywalker.”

He wouldn’t realize the impact of his answer until several days later, when he would wake up in an unfamiliar medical bay on an unfamiliar ship with Darth Vader hovering close by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone’s being safe out there. Thanks for reading. :)
> 
> Also, yes, yes, I did look up the specific docking bay number that the Falcon was in on the Death Star during ANH.
> 
> Disclaimer: I know nothing about medical things. So, if surviving a chest wound like that is unrealistic, well, why complain about that when we have to contend with laser swords and space wizards who can kill people with their minds in this fandom? ;) XD


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